


Make the Flowers Grow

by cattyk8



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst without plot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Songfic, Wakes & Funerals, eulogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 13:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8/pseuds/cattyk8
Summary: A battle to save the world goes very wrong for Gotham’s Dark Knight. Superman rushes to save him, but by the time he does, the Bat’s injuries are a little too grievous.





	Make the Flowers Grow

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I dug up from my “graveyard” folder, which I'm posting because a friend requested it. Not really beta read—my beta reader is the person who asked me to post this, and her only comment was unprintable. 
> 
> So. Warnings. This doesn’t have a plot. It’s mostly just sad feels. The song lyrics are from “A Little Fall of Rain” from the musical _Les Misérables_ , music by Claude-Michel Schönberg and English lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer.

_A breath away from where you are,  
I’ve come home from so far…_

* * *

Clark Kent cuddles his grumpy lover in the early morning light filtering through the curtains of their bedroom.

“Go’way. ‘M sleeping,” a very grumpy Bruce Wayne mutters, burying his face in his pillow.

“That’s okay,” he says, smiling mischievously as he starts to trail kisses down the other man’s back, letting his fingers trace the scars on his lover’s back, a testament to the Bat’s continuing battle to save his city, and occasionally the world. “You can just lie there. I’ll do all the work.”

He’s almost at the base of Bruce’s spine when the other man turns over. “Fine. We’ll have sex, then you let me sleep.”

Clark lets out a full-throated laugh. “As you wish, Master Wayne. I—”

Simultaneous beeps of their Justice League communicator have both men sitting up abruptly. “We’re not supposed to be on call today,” Clark says, frowning. Bruce just grunts.

Putting the coms in their ears, they respond.

“Superman and Batman here.”

“Sorry guys, we’ve got an omega level threat, and it’s all hands on deck.”

“Supervillains?”

“Alien invaders, incoming fast if our early warning system has got it right. I estimate about ninety minutes before they hit our atmosphere.”

“We’ll be there in ten.”

Bruce is gloriously naked and already moving toward the secret compartment where he keeps an undersuit for Batman’s armor along with a spare set of Superman’s uniform. Clark is dressed before he is, of course.

“I’ll leave via the balcony, fly up to the Tower,” Superman says.

“I’ll take the transporter. Might need the power suit.”

Superman frowns. “You think so?”

Batman shrugs. “Better not to need it and have it than the alternative.”

Clark presses a kiss to his lover’s unsmiling lips. “Keep safe. I love you.” When Bruce only shrugs, he grins. “Don’t worry, I know better than to rush you into saying it back. And I know you feel it, even if you won’t say it.”

“Hnn.”

Clark smiles and steals another kiss. “See you later.”

* * *

 _Don’t you fret…_  
_I don’t feel any pain._

* * *

A cheer goes up as the last of the invading aliens retreat to their ships and speed away from the earth at light speed, and Superman takes a moment to indulge in relief. Once more, the world is safe.

“Superman to Tower control. Metropolis is clear. Casualty report.”

“No fatalities reported at these time,” Mr. Terrific says immediately. “Fourteen heroes have been teleported to the infirmary with noncritical injuries. We’re waiting on reports from Gotham, New York, London, and Hong Kong. No, hold on. New York and Hong Kong are clear. Aaand, London is clear.”

Superman frowns as he starts to aid with the efforts to clear the streets for emergency services to get through. He had known peripherally that the invaders had hit Gotham just as hard as Metropolis, if not harder. “Loop in the BatClan.”

“Got it.”

There’s a beep on his communicator. “This is Oracle.”

“Oracle, is Gotham clear?”

“Yes, just now. Turns out there were two big bads, not just the one you had to deal with, but B pulled a Batman, and he retreated with the rest of them.”

“Casualties?”

“Red Robin broke an arm and a couple of ribs, but we think he’s got the worst of it. We’re not all done checking in yet.”

Superman stills in mid-air, a two-ton hunk of concrete in hand. Everyone knows the Bats are extra vigilant about checking in during a crisis. As the only pure non-meta team in the League, not to mention a family unit, they have always been very conscious of the importance of emergency aid. “Who hasn’t checked in yet?”

 “Batman and Robin have not checked in. I’m sending Batgirl to Robin’s location, but…” A pause. “I can’t seem to triangulate Batman’s location.”

Superman unloads the concrete onto a pile of rubble, worry burning at his center. “I’m on my way,” he snaps, already gaining altitude.

A sonic boom, and he’s gone.

In half a minute, he is hovering in the stratosphere above the dense rainclouds and spires of Gotham City, eyes closed, closing his hearing to the cacophony of the world so he can focus on the one heartbeat he knows better on his own.

 _There_.

Boom.

* * *

_A little fall of rain  
Can hardly hurt me now…_

* * *

The first sound that registers above the slow thud of Bruce’s heart is Robin, who is struggling against six adults doing their best to hold him down on a gurney without hurting the boy—or being hurt by his thrashing limbs. “Let me go! I have to get to him. Batman!”

Some part of Superman—and it _is_ Superman, because he can’t afford to be Clark right now—registers the boy’s hoarse desperation, feels an echo of it in his own chest and throat. But he straightens as he lands, adopts the resonant tones of the Man of Steel. “Robin, where is Batman?”

“Ke—Superman,” Robin says, and the relief in his voice in place of his customary disdain is more terrifying than the tears and denial that had colored it before. Though the gurney is situated under an awning, the rain is coming in sideways and has plastered the boy’s hair to his head. Superman takes a moment to note that he has a broken rib and a concussion. “Batman—” he points to a collapsed building about a hundred yards away, where dozens of civilians are struggling to clear the rubble. “I can’t get him on coms.”

“I can hear his heartbeat,” Superman takes the time to tell the boy before speeding forward. The civilians cheer when they see him. “Stay back.”

He waits for them to draw back, though he doesn’t want to. It takes too many heartbeats, but he knows Bruce would never forgive him.

His coms have remained open, so he is not surprised when Oracle says, “I’m sending Nightwing, Red Hood, and Black Bat to you. ETA ten minutes. Batgirl will be there in three.”

“I’m going in. If the Watchtower can spare one, I need a speedster, stat. There are civilians with him. I’ll clear a path.” And with that, he is moving through the wreckage, following that heartbeat.

It takes too much time, and no time at all, for him to reach the pocket cavern containing a dozen civilians and the hero who saved them from being crushed by the building falling down on top of them.

“Batman!”

“S-Superman,” the Bat whispers, each breath wet and rasping in a way that makes Clark’s own heart stutter. “Get them… out. I… can’t hold… pocket… much longer.”

“No,” a civilian dressed in medical scrubs who has her hands pressed to Bruce’s stomach says urgently. “Superman, Batman’s sustained the worst injuries out of all of us. You need to take him out first. He’ll die if you don’t get him out of here _now_. He needs to go first.”

“C-can’t,” Batman says. “M’suit’s… holding up… th’ceiling.”

And to his horror, Superman realizes he’s right. Batman’s power suit is acting as a corner stone for the only remaining support structures in the little cave. “Oracle, Watchtower, do I have a speedster en route?”

“Here! I’m here Supes!” And blessedly Flash’s voice comes not from the coms, but from right beside him. The scarlet speedster’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene before them. “Oh Jesus. Bats.”

“Grab as many civilians as you can,” Superman orders him.

“Take the rest,” the woman in scrubs snaps. “I’m not leaving him.”

Flash looks to Superman, who nods. The speedster grabs up three people, races them out. Superman takes four, depositing them just barely on the edge of the safe zone, where EMTs are already waiting to assist. He sees Batgirl standing over Robin. “Clear a gurney for Batman,” he snaps, then rushes back into the cavern to fly two more out.

Finally it’s just Batman and the nurse. “Thank you for your help,” Superman tells her as Flash speeds in. “But we need to take him, and the cavern will collapse as we do.”

“You don’t understand,” she says. “My hands and his suit are the only things keeping his guts inside his body.”

“Shit,” Flash whispers.

“Show me where the pressure needs to be applied,” Superman says, and he wills his hands to stop trembling. She does, and he is grateful that his hand is big enough that it spans the place where both of hers are pressed to Bruce’s middle. He applies pressure the instant she leans away away, but not before blood gushes, and he suddenly realizes that the bottom half of the suit is _drenched in Bruce’s blood_.

“Go,” Batman hisses at her. “Th-thank you.”

“N-no,” she whispers. “Thank you, Batman.”

There’s a slight breeze as Flash darts out of the cavern.

Batman turns to Superman. “Robin.”

“He’s fine, a few minor injuries, but he’ll be fighting fit in no time. I’m going to get you out of the suit, then I’m going to get you to help, okay?” Superman says, struggling to keep his voice steady as he uses his free hand to unclasp the cape.

“Cl-clark,” Batman—no, _Bruce_ , says, stopping his movements. “She was… right… about the suit. It…would be…safer… t’leave—”

“Don’t you fucking say it, Bruce,” Superman snaps. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Superman. _Clark_.” It’s Oracle. He’d forgotten the com lines are open still. “Can you make it out of there with Batman in the suit before the structure collapses? There are no other civilians nearby.”

“I can,” Superman says, even though normally he wouldn’t be sure. _I will_.

“Do it.”

He grabs Bruce and flies through the tunnel as the cavern fills in behind them. Beneath the roaring of the collapse, he hears Bruce’s blood _bubble_ , his heart _stutter_. In the next instant (though it feels like millennia) he is outside, and placing the Dark Knight in the gurney Robin has vacated. “Medic!” he calls frantically, applying pressure once more to the gaping wound at Bruce’s abdomen. “Medic!”

“Father,” Damian whispers hoarsely, barely audible over the rain. Batgirl is holding him, and Flash has an arm around her in turn.

There’s a flash of light, and Dr. Hamilton and Dr. Thompkins barely take time to shake off the disorientation from being zeta-beamed from the Watchtower before they are running toward the heroes, eyes on Bruce. Dr. Thompkins places gloved hands over Bruce’s injury, working to hold the edges of the wound together. “Emil, we need to bind this. He won’t survive a zeta-beam. Superman, _move_.”

He stumbles back to give her space, but Batman’s cowl turns to follow the movement and he struggles to meet his eyes, so Superman floats over to stand by his head. “I’m here,” he says, pulling his cape up to try to shelter his lover from the downpour. A hand red with Bruce’s blood comes up to stroke the cowl, hoping the crack that runs down one side doesn’t mean more damage to the Dark Knight. “I’m here, Bruce.”

* * *

 _You’re here  
That’s all I need to know_  

* * *

The doctors have bound up the abdominal wound as best they can under the circumstances and have contacted the Watchtower to commandeer an ambulance, as Bruce’s injuries make teleportation impossible. With hospitals full after the invasion, the BatCave, with its fully equipped operating theater, is their best bet. The nurse from earlier has come forward to assist them, explaining exactly what she did in the time before Superman found them.

Superman is doing his best to stay out of their way, but he has one of the Bat’s gauntleted hands in his, and he can’t seem to let go. Batman is barely paying attention to the doctors, his cowl angled so the white lenses appear to be staring straight at him. Superman uses his x-ray vision to see beyond those lenses to the dark blue eyes beneath.

“You’ll be okay,” he tells the Bat, over and over again. He’s trying to reassure himself of that, just as much as the man in the gurney.

The rest of the BatFamily—or the ones who are mobile, anyway—come roaring up right alongside something that looks like the lovechild of an ambulance and one of those armored vehicles used to move money around the city, and Superman is glad when Nightwing hops out of the thing and takes charge of the situation.

“Batgirl, take Robin home in the Batmobile, we’ll use it to clear the streets for the ambulance. Hood, take Batgirl’s Batcycle. Black Bat, take mine. Flank the ambulance. I’ll be driving. Oracle, navigate.”

“What can I do?” Flash asks as everyone scrambles to follow orders.

“Clear the route of any debris.”

“I can help with that,” Superman offers.

“No,” Dr. Thompkins snaps as he helps them lift the gurney into the ambulance as gently as possible. “You ride in the van with us, talk to the patient, keep him awake however you can. He’s responding to you.”

“I—”

“I am aware of your relationship, and I am also aware that his training is what’s keeping him breathing right now. He passes out, we lose that. So don’t let him pass out.”

Superman shuts up after that, climbs into the ambulance with the doctors, sitting across from Bruce, within his sightline. Soon they are racing out toward the BatCave, but Clark hears the nurse tell Red Hood her name and the name of the hospital she works at, asking him if he can let her know if Batman makes it.

 _He has to make it_. “You’ll be okay,” Superman goes back to saying. His ears are full of Bruce’s heartbeat. He almost doesn’t recognize it. It’s too slow, too thready, not at all the strong, steady thrumming he’s made a habit of seeking out at random times of the day or night in the past year or so. “You’re the goddamn Batman. You’re always okay.”

“Shhh,” Bruce whispers, hand reaching out slowly, weakly, to touch Clark’s face. It’s only then that the Man of Steel realizes he is crying. “It’s… okay, Clark. You’ll… be okay. You… tell every…one…I love them.”

The words stop Superman’s heart in his chest. _Don’t say that, Bruce. Please._

“I… love you.”

“Don’t you say that to me now, you bastard. You tell me that when you wake up from this.”

“Just… in… case.”

_No, please, no._

* * *

_And you will keep me safe,  
And you will keep me close…_  

* * *

They’ve just made it into the cave when Bruce’s heart just stops, and the noise as the heart rate monitor flatlines seems as sharp in Superman’s heart as a shard of kryptonite.

Dr. Thompkins immediately climbs on top of Bruce to do chest compressions. She is swearing and yelling at the man beneath her. The part of Clark that is holding himself separate from the panic of the moment remembers that the hands covered in blood that are pumping at his lover’s chest were also the hands that delivered Bruce, just a little over thirty-five years ago.

Then the ambulance stops and the back doors open, and Superman helps Dr. Hamilton and Bruce’s two eldest sons get the gurney out, rushing it toward the operating theater as Dr. Thompkins continues to do chest compressions.

Once in the theater, Dr. Hamilton starts up the defibrillator, and Superman helps Dr. Thompkins down as the paddles are pressed to Bruce’s chest and side. “Clear!”

The electric shock going through Bruce’s torso sounds like a muted explosion, expanding even as something in Clark’s chest squeezes when he realizes Bruce’s heart hasn’t started up again, despite the resumption of CPR. The doctors amp up the voltage and try again. “Clear!”

The whining flatline of the heart monitor taunts everyone. The disassociated part of Clark’s brain registers the sound of Jason cursing, Dick begging, Damian’s harsh breathing, and Stephanie’s hiccupping sobs. Only Cassandra’s breath is steady, though her heart, like everyone else’s, riots in her chest.

“Come on, Bruce,” Dr. Thompkins says, her voice is reed-thin and shaky. “Clear!”

They keep trying, but the continuous scream of the heart monitor marks their efforts as futile. Finally, Dr. Hamilton steps back. “Time of death—”

“No.” Clark isn’t sure who says it.

 _No no no no no no_ —

“Time of death, 8:23 PM.”

Dick starts to wail, and the other members of the Bat Clan collapse into sobs, but Clark doesn’t hear it. Superman can hear his name whispered clear across the globe, but this is the moment his world falls silent.

* * *

 _And rain will make the flowers grow._  

* * *

Bruce Wayne’s funeral is a private ceremony, in which his body is laid to rest beside the graves of his parents. It is attended by the family and the founding members of the Justice League. Wayne Enterprises releases a statement to the press about how the billionaire was one of the many civilians lost during the battle in Gotham.

Batman’s funeral is an international event. There is talk of erecting a statue of the Dark Knight in the city center. People have covered the rubble of the building he’d been trapped in with flowers, candles, and notes. Forums flood with Batman stories—tales from the people he’s saved, yes, but even stories from the occasional thug about the Bat’s kindness, from children who got to ride in the Batmobile as the vigilante brought them home or to community centers after finding them on the streets on a cold night. Several of the villains had come out to pay their respects; flowers in a bright yellow and a blue so dark it was almost black were rioting across the city in signature Poison Ivy style, but the Rogues stay quiet the whole week in an unspoken truce with the League and Bat Clan.

The service is held at dusk at Gotham Cathedral and is attended by heads of state, A-list celebrities, press from all over the world, and probably three quarters the population of Gotham come to gawk at the empty black coffin emblazoned with the Bat’s logo.

Bruce would have hated it.

That’s all Superman can think of as he listens to the speakers share their stories of Gotham’s Dark Knight. Jim Gordon speaks of good partners taken too soon, Shayera Hol talks about Batman’s compassion, the Martian Manhunter speaks of the brilliance of his brain, while Flash tells a story of how Batman came to Central City to support him just because he asked him.

Superman is staring at the empty coffin as the Flash breaks down into tears. He feels a small hand clasp his, and he feels Cass in her Black Bat costume as she leans her cowled head on his arm. He pulls her gently into a hug, ignoring the flashes from the multitude of cameras trained on the ceremony.

Hal Jordan is recounting a story from one of their earlier mission. “And cool as a cucumber as he’s free-falling without a parachute, Bats goes, ‘Batman to all points. I could use some air support. Since I can’t fly. At all.’ Supes flies in, picks him up, and the Bat starts barking orders like he wasn’t like half a sec from going splat. But that was Batman, you know? Nerves of steel and ten steps ahead of every damn person—hero or villain.” His breath hitches. “We’ll miss ya, Spooky.”

Whispers erupt from the crowd as Diana moves toward the podium, the Amazon in full formal regalia rather than her usual uniform.

“When I first came to Man’s World, I had certain ideas of what a man was, of what I would have to teach the men I would need to work with to make the world better,” she says. A rueful smile graces her lips. “But Batman taught me more than I ever taught him.

“He showed me that Amazons are not the only warriors who know how to be gentle. His caring for his teammates, his love for the Bat Clan—he had a different way of showing it. But he pushed everyone harder in training and on the field because it was what he could do to make sure everyone got home safe at the end of the day. He was the greatest warrior, the greatest general, in all of Man’s World, and one of the greatest men I have had the opportunity to call friend.”

Clark bites his lip at that last part, closes his eyes against the heat vision and tears that threaten. In the shelter of his arms, he feels the quivering of Cass’s shoulders. He holds her a little tighter as Diana leaves the podium and Dick walks up.

There is absolute silence as Nightwing approaches the microphone. “I’ve been elected to speak for the, uh, Bat Family.” He grips the sides of the podium, and only Clark hears the creak of the wood from how hard he’s holding on.

“I’m not going to tell you guys about who this Batman was. He died to save innocents, he died for Gotham. He lived every day, fought every night to do the same. He taught us all that saving even just one life matters. But more than that, he taught us that the Bat is bigger than any one person.”

Dick pauses, looks out at the crowd. Clark sees his jaw work, hears him swallow as he steels his resolve. “So the man who wore the cowl for more than twenty years may be gone, but the Bat’s legacy lives on. And as long as there is a Gotham, and as long as there is a Justice League, we promise you, there will be a Batman.”

Nightwing steps away from the microphone and vanishes into the shadows. There is a moment of absolute silence. Then everyone is on their feet and clapping. And Clark has a moment to think that maybe this part, this moment, Bruce wouldn’t have hated.

And then Superman must make his way to the front. He untangles himself from Cass and floats to the podium. He lands heavily, the weight of grief adding strength to the gravity that pulls him down.

“Nightwing is absolutely right when he says Batman’s legacy will live on,” Superman says slowly. “And I don’t have the words to say how much hope it gives me to know that the Bat will continue to make Gotham’s shadows safe.”

He stops, sighs. “You know, when we were starting out, it was just the two of us heroes. Batman and Superman, the world’s finest.” He smiles sadly. “He used to say we were the world’s finest idiots. ‘Kal,’ he told me once, ‘I’m a grown man who dresses up like a bat. You’re a superpowered alien who can’t figure out you’re supposed to wear the underwear on the inside.’”

He focuses on the people in the audience who chuckle at the story; in a few others, it inspires new tears, and he knows he won’t make it through his eulogy if he looks at them.

“Then more and more heroes came out of the woodwork, and suddenly there was a team and a Justice League. I—I used to tease him about retiring from the business of saving the world. He just laughed and told me not to be ridiculous. I realize now that even if he had to hang up his cape, the world would still need saving in a myriad of ways, and he would still be doing his part to save it.

“I’m not much for religion, to tell the truth, but years and years ago, when I visited Israel, I learned of a concept of _tikkun olam_ , by which we repair the world through acts of kindness. Now, when I first met the Bat of Gotham, I was sure kindness was the last thing I’d ever see from him. He was always abrupt, abrasive. I never would’ve thought I’d learn what _tikkun olam_ meant from the Batman.”

Clark chuckles. “The first few times we met, he refused to call me Kal no matter how often I invited him to. It was always _Superman_ —with an extra dose of sarcasm—or _alien_. I thought he was the rudest man I’d ever met. But over the years, I grew to see the sides he didn’t always let people see. There was so much kindness in him, especially toward the innocents he helped. But he was kind even toward the villains he fought. I know some of Gotham’s Rogues have extended their sympathies to the Bat Clan in the past few days.

“People have said and written much about the Batman over the years, and more so in the five days since his passing. One of the phrases I’ve heard bandied about is how he was ‘a mere human who stood shoulder to shoulder with gods and titans.’ But the truth is, there was nothing ‘mere’ about the man I’ve called my best friend for over a decade.

“He was brilliant and focused and fearsome and kind. For all that the symbol on my uniform stands for hope, the embodiment of my hope for humanity, the shining beacon in my darkest hours, has always been the Dark Knight. The world is bleaker without him in it. He was—is—the best man I have ever known.”

* * *

_And rain will make the flowers…_

* * *

 


End file.
